Thawed
by BattyBigSister
Summary: It was uniquely ugly: a mewing scrawny pink and grey thing laying swaddled in only the cold ice. Its oversized eyes were red and swollen and closed against the world, its head covered in scraps of white down like an old man's, but the royal crest emblazoned proudly in the frost over its head spoke volumes, as did the name in ornate lettering underneath. This was Elsa's son.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** The story below contains content taken from Disney's Frozen and Dreamwork's Rise of the Guardians. This content is used solely for the purposes of free non-profit entertainment of fans of both features and is not intended to defame either of these these franchises, their copyright holders, the companies producing them or anyone else associated with any of these.

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 **Prologue**

Dry afternoon warmth flooded the high triangular architecture of the Southern Isles. Caught in a natural wind shelter between the mountains the capital received neither a lot of rain nor a lot of heat as a rule, but in the height of summer it was at least reasonably pleasant outside. Sadly the temperature was as far as the term could be pushed. The endless drought and smog pollution from the town had killed most of the plant life, leaving the churned-up dry earth that lined the roadsides dusty and barren. Even the majority of the trees were blackened and bare, the barren twigs crackling and crumbling off the branches at the slightest touch. Their brittle remains hung over the walls and fell down into the pathways, leaving the ground unpleasant and dusty with the diseased bark.

Pale brown bunches of twigs and empty red-patterned earthenware lay scattered between lonely stone pathways. Someone had once tried to plant shrubs and potted plants in the corner of the giant angular house, but these had long since died away to leave nothing but the stark reminders of what might have been. The layer of soot and grime on the building hid ornate the wood facing and beautiful traditional beamwork. A smokey edge besmirched the painted walls, dulling the once vibrant colours of the paintwork and reducing it to a dirty grey. Without the natural trimmings to give the place a measure of homeliness, the two long wings of the building squatted uncomfortably at right angles to one another, in the shelter of the grimy iron topped walls, like the most unwelcome guest at a dinner party. The entire place was lonely and awkward-looking, much past its prime. Still from the recessed shutters and pillared porch to the tall elegant windows it was clear that this was no simple country cottage, but the grand home of someone at least vaguely important. **(** _ **1**_ **)**

The atmosphere inside the front room felt more muggy and stuffed than elegant summer society. Heavy rosewood panels lined the walls and dark hued portraits and paintings hung between opulent carvings on every raised edge. Simple ornaments were scattered on the sideboard, a small table clock of German make and some Dutch and Danish pottery. A pair of impressive but uncomfortable winged armchairs held their position near the fireplace on either side of a long thick Turkish rug. Most prominent however was the dark mahogany couch dominating centre of the room almost alone, its throw cushions opulently embroidered with red silk.

At the moment it was doing time as a day bed. A mountain of muscle had fallen upon it, swathed somewhat loosely in a brocade patterned burgundy housecoat with the shawl collar pulled up around his neck. The prominent chin jutted out from between its folds, the face otherwise hidden except for a mess of untidy chestnut hair. Still thickened arms curled were in the loose swathes of the sleeves around the elongated middle and both feet hung bare in mid-air over the edge of one of the heavily tufted seats, occasionally twitching with the exploits of sleep.

"Are you going to lie there all day?" holding open the door with a scowl upon her thin lips was a sallow-looking woman with high arched cheekbones, "Should I perhaps have the maid come and dust you like a decoration?" Her dress was a rich shiny material, window's black lined with a shocking red velvet trim. Deep scarlet house slippers paced the floor with an audible tread as she advanced on him, kicking the ornate leg of the sofa to get a reaction.

The disgraced youngest prince of the Southern Isles barely lifted his head. "That's hilarious, mother. Thank you."

The woman tisked softly under her breath, sweeping passed him as she went to open the window. Sunlight streamed into her face, lighting up the yellowing wrinkles under the lace trim of the widow's bonnet. She had the same large jutting chin and square jaw as her son and there was something similar about the shape of the eyes, but even when it had still held its full colour her hair had been a much darker shade than his and the same could be said for her irises. The apples of her cheeks seemed to withdraw into her mouth for protection, leaving the bones above them prominent and exposed. Her brow had a pinched look, drawing inwards until it culminated in a high set narrow nose that currently might have been mistaken as one plagued by a really bad smell.

"Well, what were you expecting?" she demanded, shooing away tan errant fly with a wave of her bony wrinkled hand and shaking up the heavy curtains as she pulled them further back. "Do you think I'll let you bellyflop about like a dying fish? Your brothers always..."

"Don't talk to me about my brothers!" Hans snapped, sitting up with a jolt. His morning robe fell open revealing the simple shirt and brown trousers he wore underneath, a far cry from his usual lavish attire. Confinement clearly wasn't suiting him. His sideburns looked overgrown and his cheeks were lined with traces of stubble. Much of his healthy colouring was starting to disappear and the once full stature of his legs and torso had started to lessen. "It's bad enough that I have to stay here all day without having to listen to you going on about the twelve degrees of 'much better than me'."

"Well," his mother shot back, hands digging into the black lace waistband of her black dress as she rounded on him with heavy irritated footsteps, "None of the others are under house arrest in their mother's retirement villa, you have to give them that." She glared coldly at him from the pronounced creases of her eyes, until he looked away with a shudder.

"Hurrah for them." Hans collapsed back on the sofa, his muscular arms flopping out to either side and his head lolling backwards with his mouth open. His tongue rolled against the inside of his cheek, making his sideburn crinkle slightly.

She reached across the space between them, slapping his jaw gently to make him close it. "Don't sulk. It doesn't suit you." She pursed her lips again, her scowl becoming even more evident among the deeply creased old skin.

He raised his head, staring wide-eyed into her sagging face framed in the dark of the wooden panels. "Don't... Don't _sulk_...?" he mouthed incredulously, "I'm a laughing stock. Publicly humiliated. Ruined. Locked up like some common criminal."

"Yes," she agreed flatly, adjusting her cap as she moved away from him across the reddish purple carpet, "All the common criminals waste away on cashmire-lined sofas and complain about the French chef's _foie gras_."

Hans sighed loudly, rubbing a strand of his hair with his thumb and forefinger, his other hand limply on the armrest beside him. "All I wanted, mother, was to find a little space of my own. Somewhere where people looked up to me and went to me for help, not Adrian or Carl or Emil or one of the others..." His bare feet kicked at the rug and her buried his toes deeper into the opulent plush.

Something heavy and almost tender came over the woman's features for a strange moment. She turned slowly and sighed, straightening her skirt as she moved back towards the sofa. With a somewhat gentler expression, she settled on the edge of the cushion beside him, rubbing his elbow, "I know, darling, I know."

Hans gave a long searching look from the corner of his eye. "Just a little bit of attention, from somebody," he sighed again, resting his head in his hands, "That's all I wanted."

She snorted, withdrawing her hand abruptly. "And naturally you decided to murder the Queen of Arendelle to get it." One cheek was pulled upwards in a sardonic half-smile as she spoke.

Hans turns his head as his expression darkened. He glared at her, his face livid. "I would have married Queen Elsa instead had she not been such a stuck-up paranoid little screw," he hissed, standing up, "And if it hadn't been for her freakish abilities. You should have seen that horrible weather, mother. I was practically doing her people a favour." He waved his hand expansively, pacing about the floor.

She sucked in her breath, nodding in mock seriousness. "Of course you were, darling, of course," she folded her arms, leaning back against the sofa, "It's not like she's a gifted sorceress from a line of kings highly beloved by their people or anything."

"And her sister's no better," he continued, barely heeding her words, his hands clenched into fists in his side."Tight-fisted little airhead. I hear she's stuck marrying the castle's ice delivery boy now. Good. It's what she deserves." He snorted angrily, kicking at the heavy pile in the maroon rug with his bare feet and pulling it into heavy folds in the process.

"Well," his mother sighed, "You did leave her to freeze to death..."

"It wasn't my fault," he exclaimed dramatically, spreading his hands wide as he faced his parent, "Only true love's kiss could save her. We'd just met. She is pretty enough and I'm sure I could have loved her properly given time..." He made a slight rolling motion with a flick of his wrist. "As it was there was nothing I could do. You have to understand, mother. I just tried to make the best of a bad situation." He shrugged his shoulders, looking back at the rug.

She raised her eyebrows at him, her expression unconvinced. "You did somewhat lead her on."

"I genuinely wanted to marry her," he growled, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in exasperation.

"Ye~s," the woman agreed, drawing out the middle sound, "But for her kingdom. Not for her."

Hans snorted, turning away in disgust. He moved across towards the fireplace, resting his elbow on the dark black mantle as he glared across the room at the gilded horses that decorated the rosewood sideboard. "Any half-decent princess would have understood," he declared, waving away the suggestion without even looking at his mother, "If she weren't so naive and full of fairy tales and magic and nonsense, she would know what is expected of real royalty."

The aged parent nodded, picking some imaginary lint from her sleeve. "And she would have held out for someone with land, money or connections like the rest of them."

"Oh very funny, mother, very good. You mock me," Hans's scowl intensified, "The fact is she never could have coped even as the second-in-command of Arendelle. I was giving her someone capable and dependable to rely on and take care of her duties for her." He folded his arms decisively over his chest, his eyes narrowed he glared down at the delicate ornaments on the side board.

"How very noble of you," she sighed, shaking her head softly as she paused her inspection of her clothes.

"Mother!" he snapped, his eyes wide. His fists shook against his chest.

"No," she quibbed, the shadows in the natural darkened room still as she held a hand to her heart, "I'm touched by your sacrifice. Really." At no point in the last minute had her expression changed even by a fraction.

"Urgh," Hans glared, his chin jutting out as he moved further away from her with folded arms. "It's no use talking to you, is it?"

"Apparently," she agreed, rising to her feet. She dusted her dress with a few hard slaps, barely paying any attention to her son until she was done. Then she strode straight into his line of sight, jamming herself between him and the wall to force him to return the hard stare she levelled into his eyes. He tried to turn away, but she reached forward, snapping her fingers straight in front of his nose with a sharp twist of her hand. He flinched. Her glare cut into him and he backed away nervously.

"At any rate, my boy," she went on in a satisfied tone, succinctly making her way back out of the room with a swish of her skirts,"You're not going to lie around here like a sack of old potatoes. Get up and find something _useful_ to do. Go muck out the horses or help with the bringing in of supplies. I expect to see you properly engaged by the end of the day." The door snapped shut behind her and her slippers were surprisingly noisy as she moved away from the room.

"Urgh... you old... Urgh..." Hans grabbed a dancing china shepherdess from the sideboard, watching it smash against the fettled woodwork with satisfaction. The broken pieces lay in the entry, a mess of discordant limbs and a splintered rosy face. He stood gasping for air, a solitary figure in his maroon robe. His bulky frame heaved as he stared angrily at the dark chestnut and crimson all around him. The delicate pinks and white of the ornament lay smashed into jagged pieces in the shadows of the doorway.

"Engaged," he grumbled, his shoulders still shaking as he did so, "I was engaged. That was the problem. I was being too nice. I made goo-goo eyes and let myself get pushed around by a couple of backwater country girls. Well no more!" He growled loudly, shrugging off his morning coat and throwing it over the back of the sofa. Jutting out his jaw, he straightened the loose shirt he had been wearing underneath, smoothing out the creases. "From now on I'm going to be master of my own destiny. I'm going to be hard and firm and tough. People are going to fear me. Yes, fear. No more laughing at me any more..." He paused, a thoughtful expression taking over his face, "I just have to figure out what it is I'm going to do precisely."

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 **Please don't forget to review. Thank you.**

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 **(** _ **1**_ **)** When I originally wrote this I wasn't sure where the Southern Isles would be located. I didn't know whether to put in the south of Scandinavia (Denmark or in the sea nearer the UK) or somewhere much further south. I eventually had the Southern Isles as a sort of Mediterranean inspired place. It had flowers and heat and villas and buzzing bees and was lovely. Then I finally got to see Frozen Fever... and it turns out that the 'Southern' Isles are just the isles south of Arendelle (So south(-west) Norway)... and are pretty dreary-looking. *Sigh* I really miss the pretty garden that this story had originally.


	2. Chapter 1a

_**Chapter 1**_

Great shards of towering ice jutted up into the angry glowing red sky, cutting into the steep curving cliffs that marked the top of the mountain. A few sickly streaks of orange and yellow littered the puce and vermilion overhead, giving a rough indication of where once upon a time one might have seen the sun. Heavy snow crystals, frozen to hail, poured out of the jagged black clouds, driven by the biting wind as it pounded the frozen slopes and lashed the wild jagged peaks below. More snow was blown up from steep inclines, whirling and whipping at the sharp rock as it tore upwards form treacherous drifts in those places were it did not freeze solid.

The ice alone was the only real protection from the weather. It lay in great heaps, broken and battered by the wind, forming a rough circle were it had once formed large thick walls. The original structure was almost unidentifiable in the shattered mess, but here and there ornately designed shapes could still be seen, half-hidden in the thick snow.

In a fairly secluded spot near the centre, something that that once been a beautifully patterned pillar had crashed into a particularly thick icy wall. The resulting haphazard formation created a dimly-lit overhang, just big enough to provide a little protection from the elements. Someone had taken advantage of this. A rough woollen blanket hung suspended over a little hand-dug snow tench. Even with the shelter, the makeshift tent was already starting to be covered in more heavy white powder.

"Come on," the pale freckled face of a little boy with fluffy white hair appeared from under one of the sides, trying unsuccessfully to peer through the white-out. He couldn't have been older than four or five. His round mouse-like ears jutted out from his tiny oval-shaped face, large pale eyes squinting heavily over his tiny upturned nose as he tried to see. "We'd better go home. Uncle Kristoff is going to be so mad already."

Despite the searing wind, he pushed his little body out into the cold. His baggy white linen shirt flapped under his red double-breasted waistcoat, but his wadmal **(** _ **1**_ **)** breeches were tightly bound with tasselled ribbons **(** _ **2**_ **)** giving him some protection from the invasive cold. His tufty stock of hair was immediately blown all over the place as the wind hit his tiny frame, almost knocking him off his feet. He staggered, digging his little silver buckled boots into the snow as he fell forward, the wool of his white stockings drenched by the frozen precipitation. Scowling, he grabbed the rough blanket in his bare hands and, almost toppling over himself again, he yanked hard on it. It was strangely resistant to coming loose. He pulled again, falling backwards onto his bottom. The coarse grey blanket gave a low inhuman howl of protest and something moved on the far side the makeshift cover.

"Come on. Don't be like that. We've gotta go," the boy insisted, pulling harder. The blanket still didn't budge. With a sigh of frustration that was almost lost in the wind, the child stood up, still holding of corner of the make-shift awning. Determinedly he pushed his way to the other side of the mound, peeling back the fabric as he went.

A sharp black-lined jaw rose out of the opening, snatching at the blanket and whining loudly as it was suddenly exposed to the elements. It was followed by black eyes and sandy-brown fur and large wriggling paws. An adolescent elkhound lay half-hidden in the snow, its black-tipped ears back in panic and its fur puffed up as it mewled painfully as it suddenly found itself evicted from its warm burrow.

"Come on or Uncle Kristoff will tell Auntie Anna and you know what that means!" the child demanded, seizing its collar and tugging. The dog's eyes bulged against the sudden strangulation, nevertheless pulling back hard as it dragged the child back out of the storm.

It was close and the child was determined, but canine was stronger than infant. The boy went barrelling head first back into their little pit, careering into the animal's side. Whining loudly in protest, the puppy kicked with its legs, as the blanket fluttered madly in the air, hanging on only by a corner still wedged under the chubby childlike legs of its young master. The boy sat up, rubbing his head and glaring at the whimpering hound. "When we get in trouble it'll all be _your_ fault!" Loyal black eyes gazed up at the child with a pathetic stare. Utterly unimpressed, the boy ignored him, pulling the blanket back over them both.

The wind continued to howl around them, picking up increasing force as it drove white snow up the steep mountain slope. It tore at the ground, freezing anything it touched and pulling up anything loose or small that might still be lying there. There were no trees or large plants up this high. Most of the smaller plantlife was crushed under a heavy layer of thick snow and ice, so it was heavy old snow that got whipped up into a frenzy, forming icy clouds that stung any part of you that wasn't already pelted by hail.

Still the boy and the dog weren't alone up on the mountain. As the sky faded from red to simple dark purple and amaranthine waves over the horizon, a small speak appeared in the glowing white distance, gradually growing closer, climbing the icy slopes in painful slow motion.

"Agi! _Agi!_ " a deep voice cried, drowning on the violent winds, " _Ah~gi!_ "

A burly man in thick grey furs forced his way up the steap cliffs towards the ruined ice structure. His clothes were of Sámi **( _3_ )** design, a thick reindeer fur tunic kept out the cold matched with equally heavy gloves and upturned boots, though much plainer and less embroidered than more formal traditional gakti **( _4_ )**. These were clothes designed to do hard work, just like the man himself. Each step planted deep into the snow to keep him steady, he held one mittened hand on a bobbled hat pressed firmly against his blonde locks. The other was cupping his mouth to aid his increasingly futile calls. Thick snow drifts pulled him downwards and the wind obscured his sight, but he kept on anyway. His face was red-raw from the cold and the hail. The seams of his clothes, his eyebrows and hair were all coated in a thick layer of icy flakes. Blinking way the snow, he strained to see, yelling the single name through the searing weather with increasing desperation.

An elderly reindeer followed the man at a snail's pace. Its antlered head was bowed low against the weather, its fur dank and dull from age and so bald in places that it had to wear a much-patched horse blanket under its well used sledding tack. The age-dampened eyes were half closed and its expression miserable, still it willingly yanked a well-worn sled over the bumpy path churned up by the man with no sign of stopping. Faded blue paint was almost entirely chipped from the worn wood and parts of the vehicle had been replaced by someone clearly much less skilled at woodwork than its original crafter. The whole ensemble looked in desperate need of a good varnish, but it was clean and the back was weighed down by worn but still thick furs which neither of them were using.

Something grey fluttered in the distance, making the man start. He bounded forwards, hobbling through the wind, stretched out a hand and caught the frozen blanket just as it started to fly away. Before the man even had time to lift a corner of it something barrelled into his middle, knocking him over.

"Uncle!" the boy's chubby face beamed down at him, his tiny fists locking themselves around the man's neck. Wind tore through a stroppy white mane and the little upturned nose wrinkled in delight as a large milk-toothed grin broke open on the tiny rounded features. It was promptly erased as a hailstone struck the child squarely on the chin, leaving an angry red mark.

Kristoff hurriedly bundled the scowling boy up in the small protection of the stiff blanket, breathing a visible sigh of relief. His giant hands pressed themselves over the tiny freckled cheeks as he sat up and clutched his way-ward charge to his chest. "Agi, there you are!" he mumbled against the white hair, wrapping his arms tightly over the small body. "Do you have any idea how worried we've been? You could have been killed out here! And Alfi too." The dog gave a low howl as if in agreement, crawling cautiously out from under the pillar at the sound of Kristoff's voice. Canine ears were held back against the biting wind and its body stayed crouched low even as it rushed to shelter of the man's side, whining plaintively as it huddled into his warmth.

"I'm sorry," a wet mumble announced stiffly from almost inside Kristoff's fur tunic.

"You should be," the man tapped the half-hidden cheek firmly, his expression stern. It didn't last. A fond look overcame him a mere moment later as he regarded the child. Clearly he had been more worried than angry.

"Come on," he breathed, bundling the blanket wrapped infant under one arm and scooping up the dog with the other, "Let's get you home. You both look like you could both use some hot soup and an early night."

"Urgh!" the boy's face reappeared in a flash, his expression indigent as he kicked indignantly against his uncle's side, "Not reboiled pinenut _again_!"

"A-A-Ah!" the man admonished, half-shouting to be heard, his eyebrows raising as he pulled his shoulder high enough to fix the infant under his armpit with a stern glare. Kristoff's face was too bruised from the cold to manage much more than an angry squint however. "For your information your aunt worked hard to send us that food from the front."

The child glowered, looking down towards the ground, as the wind hissed around them, "Then why can't _she_ eat it instead?" he grumbled, as if he was hoping Kristoff wouldn't hear him. "I'm sure the soldiers need it too."

Rolling his eyes, the man tossed them both into the back of the sled. "Fine then," he decided loudly, rubbing the reindeer's nose. It hummed in appreciation and turned slowly, apparently totally fed up with the weather. "Alfi can have your share and you can just go hungry tonight." The dog barked in appreciation, wagging its fluffy backwards curved tail as it nosed its way under a pile of furs.

The child untangled himself from his abused blanket, glaring at his traitorous best friend. "Okay, okay, I'll eat it."

"Thought so," the man swung himself into the driver's seat, clicking his tongue loudly to be heard over the wind. The elderly reindeer huffed in obvious disapproval, but obediently trudged forwards into the blizzard, its ears held back against the cold.

The high walls of the sled's cargo hold kept the wind at bay a little, though it couldn't completely fend off the hail or snow. Agi tugged the blanket over his head for protection and shifted some more of the furs over his dog until it had turned completely into shivering lump on the sled floor.

Kristoff was much more exposed in the raised drivers seat. He slumped forwards over the reigns, trying to peer out into the snow passed his antlered steed. The reindeer staggered forwards slowly, testing every step. Neither of them seemed very sure of the path and kept casting weary glances towards the rapidly approaching cliff face as they hunted through the blizzard for safe passage downwards.

Suddenly the man started upright, alerted by a tug on his tunic. "Uncle Kristoff..."

"Agi," the man grunted distractedly, casting a single glance over his shoulder at the child.

The freckled face was still half-hidden in the blanket. His pale skin was oddly flushed from the cold, but much less so than Kristoff's. The large almond-shaped baby eyes were squinting inwards and the brows were knitted. His lower lip jutted out in a semi-pout. "Do you think Auntie Anna will be home for..."

Kristoff tensed, looking up … and that was when he saw it. For a split second he felt too numb to move. Then he twisted himself around, screaming for Sven to get down. Placing one foot on his own bench as he leapt into the back of the sled, seized the child around the middle and threw himself over the boy shielding him with his own body.

The storm stopped. Everything was still. Even hail hung dead in the air. Then the sky around them burst into flames.

Something large and bright burst upwards from the sea, spraying fire and ash over the frosted woods below. It whistled loudly as it passed, smashing onto the smaller mountains across the fjord. The reindeer reared on his back legs. Alfi howled in fear, fur blankets falling everywhere as he scrambled to get away from the noise and light. A second explosion followed. Then a third. The ground shook. The sled juddered back its own tracks. The entire sea-ward horizon became lit with a blazing light, visible even from their great height as a strange amber glow through the darkness. Other patches of light were starting to grow along the line of the river. The whole valley seemed to be setting alight.

Agi wiggled free of his guardian, pressing both hands down on the man's shoulder as he pushed himself upright, "What was that?"

Kristoff sat up slowly. He took in the devastation with a wide eyed shake of his head, his expression becoming ever more incredulous and afraid as he traced the pattern of the light with his eyes. "I dunno, kiddo," he whispered at last, planting a hand distractedly on the child's shoulder and dragging him back down towards the floor. "But it wasn't good. You and Alfi hunker down low in the sled, okay? We're going to have to go really fast."

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 **Please don't forget to review. Thank you.**

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 **(** _ **1**_ **)** A type of coarse, dense and usually undyed woollen fabric made in Norway, Sweden, Iceland, Greenland and the Orkney, Shetland and Faroe Islands from the middle ages to the 18th century. Similar to _hodden_ in Scotland.

 **(** _ **2**_ **)** In other words – for those of you that are interested – he's wearing (something akin to) traditional Norwegian national costume or _bunad_. Incidentally that is his picture up on the cover art, so you know, you can just look to see what he looks like.

 **( _3_ )** To quote wikipeadia: "an indigenous Finno-Ugric people inhabiting the Arctic area of Sápmi, which today encompasses parts of far northern Norway, Sweden, Finland, the Kola Peninsula of Russia, and the border area between south and middle Sweden and Norway." and yes, Kristoff is officially one of them. It was news to me too. They herd reindeers and stuff so it kinda makes sense though.

 **( _4_ )** The traditional clothing of the Sámi people; very beautiful, brightly coloured and heavily embroidered, tasseled, lined with soft metal art etc; very unlike what Kristoff wears except for the approximate shape of the clothes. You want more details you know exactly where google is.


	3. Chapter 1b

There are things it doesn't pay to think about. Things you can't help no matter how hard you try. Things like the fact that you are essentially a small blob of grease and slowly dying cells congealing in a bath of its own fluids, enzymes, proteins and internal bacterial life in a universe far bigger, cleaner and frankly less disgusting than you could ever be. Name any of your organs and you're essentially referring to a probably gooey mess squelching out waste into long thin tubes where the oxygen and glucose of life mix freely with its excretions and parasites... and that is all you are. A parasite stealing life from others around it in the most primitive ways, by grinding up other living things in a spit-laden mastication pit, slowly digesting them in a slimy tube of acids and alkalis and then finally excreting the leftover waste into the nearest available hole with invariably little to no thought for the consequences on the rest of the planet. At least trees have the decency to photosynthesise - much more hygienic.

Contemplating our own ickyness gives rise to even more disturbing notion that, even if the universe was created by some supremely powerful being, you could just as easily be the thing growing in that muck in that corner of the galaxy He forgot to wipe properly as His intentional design. Nobody ever designs a disgusting slimy mess on purpose, it tends to be the by product of something more interesting... like creating a universe. Things that are meant to actually be looked at and admired also tend to be up front and centre in easy reach and view, so assuming that our entire existence is a nasty unpleasant by-product would also go some way to accounting for why we're stuck on the outer edge of a tiny galaxy in the corner of the universe like the should-be-proverbial mold growing under the fridge. It's funny how in all the doomsday scenarios people list out – nuclear holocaust, global famine by over-population, the Sun expanding and swallowing up the Earth, the Big Crunch, the Big Rip, Heat Death, four apocalyptic horsemen finally remembering where they left their mounts, an illogical and highly scientifically unlikely plague of reanimated corpses with a surprising craving for living brains – nobody ever brings up the inherent possibility of God nipping back with a big bottle of disinfectant and a fuzzy cleaning cloth. _1_

For the citizens of Arendelle, the things they didn't think about had become more simple, like neat streets lined by houses with trim wooden awnings, toasty cottages with warm log fires (and the occasional Oaken-brand sauna) and soft eiderdown beds with thick woollen blankets. It was akevitt and gløgg _2_ at Christmas and beer or cider with your friends after work; full tables of steaming fish fresh from the ocean in the summer and their dried, salted or pickled counterparts in winter, always surrounded by happy, smiling family members loading up their plates as they talked about their day. It was anything, basically, that reminded them of home.

Home was gone.

Six years of conflict had smashed much of the village into rubble and anything left over was crushed by the weight of a layer of ice so thick most mortals could never imagine breaking through. Snow drifts ten feet tall covered the broken remains of houses. Permanent swirls of clear ice glistened year round under the dark stormy sky, radiating such cold that anything that touched them seemed to freeze almost instantly. Unbroken white swirled in the endless icy gales, smashing down against the solid clear mass that had once been the fjord. Even in the mountains the trees rotted where they stood, leaves and needles falling from their brittle branches, unable to find hydration or nutrition in the permanent freeze. Each year the sun failed to make a dent in the prevailing white and the smaller plantlife failed to sprout up from the snowy blanket. Arendelle was dying.

The ground and even the water lay barren. The forest were empty and achingly devoid of any sound except for the angry howl of the wind. Most of the wildlife had gone. Nothing grew or swam beneath the ice and even the birds had fled south or perished from starvation. Most of the once unflappable residents - the same ones who had faced years of increasingly distant leadership, a sudden catastrophic June freeze and the discovery their young Queen had magical powers without wavering - had copied their avian fellows, braving the hazardous trek across the frozen sea towards those parts of Europe that still lay beyond the encroaching magical permafrost. The cities beyond the ice were increasingly hostile to the idea of penniless Arendellian refugees squatting in their streets and consuming their dwindling food supplies. Many shut their gates, turning them away - others enacted harsher and harsher laws to keep them from finding work or settling down among the natives. They focused their strength and efforts on the war, on keeping the Enemy locked down in Arendelle and away from their borders, but the human fallout fell unnoticed and unwanted by the wayside. Even had they been welcomed, every year fewer and fewer of those who started the trip over the frozen wastes were reported to have arrived alive. Most died en route, hunted by the Enemy's endless patrols or killed by cold and starvation. Still those penniless refugees squatting and abused in streets far from home would tell you they were glad they made the trip. It was better than remaining.

That didn't mean that Arendelle was deserted - far from it. There were those who were too weak, too encumbered with the very young or old or just too loyal to their royal family and fighting forces to manage the journey. They had taken refuge high up in one of Arendelle's old rotting forests, in the wilderness beyond even what used to be used for logging and hunting, in a secret overhang in the North Mountain range. Aided and guided by Kristoff's incredibly extensive mountain lore they had built a rudimentary settlement out of the decaying forest and their foraged supplies, even cracking the frozen earth to scrape out building material when there was nothing else available, and had scrounged up whatever bits of edible lichen or food would still grow or burn, supplemented by the occasional donations from the very occasional successful supply shipment to the front line troops. Bolstered by incredible effort, the last tangible remains of the kingdom of Arendelle had managed to win just enough of the battle against the constant biting cold to survive... until today.

Kristoff sprang from the sled before it had even slowed. Sven brought the vehicle to a stop alone, letting it swing in a wide arch to run out the momentum. The harness dragged against the old reindeer's blanketed body as he dug his hooves into the slushy dirt track, but even when the oscillation brought the sled in front of and past him, the faithful old creature held firm pulling back until the vehicle quivered to a shaky halt. Sven puffed loudly, moving a few steps into the pull of the now tight sledding tackle to allow it to slacken comfortably against his skinny old frame. Eager sets of paws and hands appeared on the sleigh's rim. A battered Agi and Alfi peered out at the rough-hewn hamlet in the mountain forest clearing beyond, their eyes wide.

Just as Kristoff had feared, the entire camp was in flames. Black smoke blew upwards from the central courtyard; orange flashes licked along the rope cables that supported most of the sleeping tents. The flimsy circles of canvas, blankets and furs collapsed in on themselves as their supports burned away, the dead leaves and branches used to insulate them providing easy kindling. Larger ramshackle huts reinforced with stone and mounds of barren dry earth were slower to fall, but the salvaged wood they had used to build their supports was going and smoke pooled under the shallow mountain overhang which sheltered the largest structures. Soon the air here would not be breathable and the flames were getting ever bigger.

People were panicking. A few tried to form bucket lines back to the one good spring running through the clearing. Others were beating at the flames with aprons and linen. Most were lost to panic: screaming, calling the names of missing friends and relatives as they raced about trying to locate survivors or scoop up as many personal possessions as they could. The loudest most hysterical cries stemmed from one small squat man in a floppy felt hat in the centre of the group, who was rolling on the ground shrieking about how they were being invaded by dragons. People ignored him, stumbling and tripping over his flailing limbs as they choked on the smoke.

"Lord Bjorgman!" someone yelled. A boney-looking older woman detached herself from the commotion, hurrying towards them with one hand lifting her heavily patched skirts and the other clamped upon the faded green cap that shielded her tight grey bun. "Thank Goodness you're back! We've been putting out the fires, but it doesn't look good." Her large eyes were almost topping out of her long bottom-heavy face as she waved frantically for his attention, her bruised paper-thin and badly heeled leather buckle shoes skimming on pebbles and snow in her haste. She was dressed in a poor, much mended version of the forest green uniform that once marked her as a member of the palace household. The long cinched jacket with its nearly unraveled winding blue embellishments indicated that she was in fact the former housekeeper of Arendelle castle, the highest position among female household servants and one that still meant something in the camp, even if the elbows had been patched with mismatched material and the hem was falling apart and everywhere else thought anything regarding the captial long defunked.

Kristoff started towards her, acknowledging her approach with the slant of his torso more than his face, which was still casting wildly around as he took in the chaos. "Where are all these flames coming from?" he coughed, clenching his muscular fists in front of his mouth, his grey fur tunic visibly moving as he gasped for clean air. Fires were stretching out in spiralling circles towards the blackened trees of the dead forests that lined the outskirts of the shanty town, "What were those things that started them?" He sprinted down the beaten dirt tack, breaking into a run. More people from the group had broken off and started towards Sven, loading the sled with whatever they couldn't carry out of the fire themselves as the reindeer encouraged them with a soft bobbing of his balding head and Alfi ran around their feet barking loudly. Kristoff nodded approvingly over his shoulder, even as he eyed others who were still panicking.

"We don't know," the former housekeeper was gasping for air, her weak chin wobbling horribly with the action. Red burned on her long nose and pronounced cheeks as she held the front of her skirts up high and hurtled along behind the Sámi man, broken lace occasionally flashing from underneath her garments as her gray stockinged feet pumped hard to keep up. "But it looks like they might be from the front lines."

Kristoff hissed something unintelligible under his breath. "I thought the Enemy only used snow..." His head turned wildly, blonde locks flying wildly even under his tight fitting hat as he strained to see through the smoke. Around him the camp was slowly shattering. Burning tents littered his left and right. He could see the clearings they used as gathering places blackening as soot got trampled into the snow. People were screaming, yelling indistinct names. Alfi's loud barking sounding the distance behind them. More of Arendelle's citizens were starting to flock towards Kristoff and the woman, people he had known most of his life. Their faces desperate as they searched his for guidance and support. Their baring hopeful as they followed him.

"The Enemy?" came a high-pitched voice at by his knee. He could feel a sharp tug as a little hand grasped at his trousers, "Is Auntie Anna okay?"

Kristoff barely looked down, waving one hand downwards and back as he pressed on. "Agi, go back and stay in the sled."

The face of the white haired child screwed up, staring up at his uncle in distaste. Galloping along the dusty road, the boy was pumping his little wadmal-clad legs for all they were worth just to keep up with the man. Little fingers clenched against the red waistcoat and a scowl formed on the small rounded face as he wobbled slightly on his young limbs, unable to maintain the pace or momentum. The adult's bulky figure on the other hand loomed in the chaos around them, an oasis of calm as he physically parted the crowd, pulling people along with him like a magnet. "But..."

Kristoff wasn't listening. There was a spring ahead. The only one with safe water in the entire camp. Covered crates and barrels littered the spaces nearby, but many others containing much of their food and supplies were already burning in the larger surrounding tents. A small group of the disheveled citizens was working its way around the clearing: some with their arms full of pots and pans and buckets, others trying to scoop out some of the thin liquid from the barely flowing water source, still more haphazardly throwing the contents of their buckets over whichever nearby blaze they considered most urgent. "It's no use," Kristoff declared, waving his hands in wide arcs as he hurried forwards towards the group, "We're going to have to abandon the area."

"All of our supplies are here!" the old housekeeper squeaked, panting as she pushed her way through the complaining crowd following him, "We'll starve! And freeze!" Shocked faces all around her murmured their agreement and the wailing man on the ground howled, tearing whole strips from the brim of his floppy hat, but the Sami man ignored them all. breathing deeply he steeled himself for what had to be done.

"Gerda, please take Agi and go back to the sled," Kristoff scooped up his nephew from the ground and thrusting him into the woman's arms, his tone authoritative. People around them stopped what they were doing to stare, looking at her as they naturally followed his movements. "Save whatever you can and get as much as Sven can manage in the hold. Food and basic supplies get priority... Dagmar," he called, reaching into the crowd and grabbing the elbow of a haggered-looking woman with a pointy upturned nose. Her faded hair was bound up in a patterned scarf and she seemed to be more apron than human as it flounced about her mid-riff with every movement. "You and the others grab any unburned essentials from the houses and retreat further up the mountain. Ingrid," a young teenager with long dark braids turned to look at him, "Fredmund, Anders," a pair of scrawny dark-haired youths saluted vigorously, spilling water down their patchy bunads, "You kids keep filling these buckets and things for us here at the stream. Organise a line. Keep as much water coming as you can to fight the fire."

"Niels," a gruff-looking man with thick-set arms stopped pulling water from the stream for a moment, "Tilda," a once-plump woman in an oversized dress and square bonnet gave him a sharp look as she dug her hand into her hip, "Florian, Elin," a long thin-featured man wearing a black beret seized a young woman with a heart-shaped face and fishing knits by the arm, "Persi, Agnetha," two stout people in traditional costume near the back of the crowd stepped forward with some trepidation, "You're with me," Kristoff finished, his mouth set in a grim line of determination, "Lets try to beat back the flames while Dagmar's group salvage what's left of the supplies."

"Right away, sir," the gruff-looking man grunted, a grim look on his stubbly face. He took a bucket from the young pig-tailed girl, grabbing the stout man in traditional costume by the arm as he did so. Said man nodded in response, a motion exaggerated by his oversized nose, and patted his much shorter wife on the shoulder as she snatched two full buckets from the floor with a determined huff.

"Everyone!" Kristoff roared, leaping onto a nearby crate lying next to the stream, "We're leaving the camp. Take what you can. We're going into the Black Mountains. We should be safer there. Make sure nobody is left behind or trapped in the flames... And someone calm Norvald down, his screaming is giving me a headache." He motioned vaguely at the man who was now chewing on his floppy hat, staring at the red and grey streaked sky and moaning about wrathful Gods. _3_

"What about me?" came a small voice wriggling in the former castle servant's grip. Gerda held her charge tightly against her tiny immaculately cinched waist, but it was taking all the strength in her wiry body to keep him there. Agi wrestled against the fierce old arms, kicking wildly as he fought for his uncle's attention. He slipped a couple of times falling against the flouncy much mended skirts. Every time however sharp fingers grabbed him by the waistcoat or the shoulder and yanked him back up again with a sharp upwards jerk of the knee. At nearly five, the child was not so easily restrained as he once had been.

"I said stay with Gerda!" Kristoff snapped, snatching up a bucket as he took off at a run. The man's blond face was reddening in the heat and there was sweat on his brow as he flung the contents over a pile of crates that looked just about to burn. Without pausing for a breath he flung the blackened boxes in Dagmarr's direction, calling for another bucket from Fredmund.

Boney arms tightened around Agi's middle preventing him from following. The boy's bottom lip started to shake. His eyes were wide. Bodies moved passed him. Heavy set bunad-clad shoulders brushed through his view of his uncle as aproned skirts swept over the ground. People were stirring around them, following Kristoff's lead and getting on the their assigned tasks. The former housemaid gave up trying to lift the child, clamping her fingers tightly on his collar instead and pulling firmly, making his feet tumble into action as she started away from the carnage. As they marched firmly back towards the sled, Crown Prince Agnarr of Arendelle twisted his neck, still staring bewildered behind them. It wasn't the first time he had seen his home destroyed, but it was the first time that he remembered.

He took in the way the fire hissed and crackled. The way people screamed as another tent blew over, flames blown towards people faces by the constant wind. Hot ash twisted and glittered in the icy last howling down from the mountain, the dead woods singing their eerie song as Arendelle's last remaining refuge was destroyed in its sights. He saw Dagmar yelling orders, trying to get a couple of crying people to take sacks of food down to Sven's sled. He saw Anders, Fredmund and Ingrid slinging buckets into the stream, barely managing to get them full before they were snatched out of their hands. In the centre of it all, he saw Kristoff: yelling orders, breaking down a burning door, re-emerging with a scrawny old lady and a bag of cats slung over his shoulder, charging into the next building as soon as he got them on the ground... _4_

Agi felt his breath catch. He tugged sharply against Gerda's arms, glancing backwards over his shoulders at what they were running from. The old housemaid responded by tightening her grip, picking up speed as they hurtled back down the path towards the reindeer, the broken leather of her buckle shoes sloshing in the wet snow. Agi closed his eyes, looking away and for a few moments actually seemed to be obediently following her, his body letting itself be dragged, stumbling, along as his small world collapsed behind him.

Suddenly an odd expression came over the boy's face. He twisted sharply, kicking his legs sharply against the old woman's ankle. She released him in shock, crying out as she instinctively jerked her leg away, but even as realisation dawned on her and she spun around to snatch at him Agi had already used the opportunity to slip away from her boney grasp. Dirty slush shifted easily under his feet as he scampered forward, breaking into a run. The child darted across the snow like a rabbit, small limbs pumping hard as he leant forward and disappeared behind the collapsing tents, a small blurr of black and white in the smoke.

"Prince Agnarr," Gerda yelled, grabbing her thick shirts in one hand and waving a fist with the other. Even the honourifics sounded like threats out of her mouth. "You get right back here, your royal highness!" Her bruised back leather shoes ricochetted in small nimble steps at such speeds that slush clouds were churned up from the path around her skinny stockinged legs as she leaned forwards, putting every ounce of her old soul into the chase as she pushed though the crowds in search of the young escapee.

The boy was still too quick for her however. Snow piled up on the less well trodden pathways, leaving everything in a dirty blanket of grey and white. He pelted around the outside of the camp, passed a string blazing huts and tents. Finding a tiny stilted slat-hut just about to catch fire, he seized the badly strung mesh grate that served as a door, pulling it open. Wood creaked and crumbled under the force of his pull, the simple box-like erection falling apart under his hands. Angry, panicked squawking issued from inside, but nothing ventured out even when Agi dropped the door and started banging on the small low sides of the structure, making it wobble on its narrow stilts. Flames were already beginning to nestle on the woven twig roof, making the boy panic.

"Come on, chickens! Run! Run!" Grabbing a stick, he whacked about the inside of the coop. Puffed up speckled feather balls boomeranged out passed his face as he drove the frightened birds outside. "Come on! You've gotta run!" He chased them out into the closed quadrangle pen and started whirling the stick at the confused poultry. Jumping about madly in his bunad shorts and waistcoat he kicked and banged on the ground, herding them through the gate and letting them squawk and flutter off into the distant blackened woods where they would be safe. He breathed heavily, his white hair tousled and sweat on his forehead as stood half-bowed, holding the long stick at an angle away from his body. Chickens squawked at his feet and he grinned softly.

The sound of frantic footsteps rang over the crackling of the smoking coop. "Prince Agnarr! Your highness!" Gerda was already rounding the corner of a nearby burning storage tent, patchwork skirts in hand as she pumped her free arm, "Come here!"

Agi spun on his heel, leaping over the last of the panicking birds as he raced off across the snowy fields. Sparks and embers twisted on the wind behind him, blown from the roofs of the blazing camp he left behind. He leap-frogged over a low fence of woven branches, making his way towards a higher one. Snow was piled up against the twisted wood, though much of the surrounding area had been trampled flat by hooves and feet and stained a dirty yellow-brown in places. The lash that held the gate closed was out of reach, but he squeezed his body through a tiny gap close to the churned up snow, racing towards a run down shed in the distance. It was a loose oblong-shaped hovel of disjointed wooden panels, tightly wrapped in the camp's small supply of hay and bundles of dried lichen and heathland shrubs that jutted out just below the eves of the messy twig roof. There was plenty of animal equipment too. With no room inside, crude milking stools and shears and buckets were arranged neatly around the entrance, stacked in piles or hanging from rusted nails in the door frame.

Suddenly there was weight on Agi's leg. He twisted around as he fell forward, face first into the wet snow. Gerda had caught him, her bony hands tightly around his ankle. Agi's arms flailed, his hand caught the rim of a milk pail near the entrance to the shed. He pulled. Something shifted and hard metal hit him in the knee. Milk splashed through the air, covering Gerda's patchy skirts and sinking deep into the grey snow. The housekeeper screamed in irritation, clutching her ruined dress.

Agi wriggled sharply, pulling away with a kick. His tiny hands seized the wooden door frame and he yanked hard, throwing himself through the open door way and out of her reach for a few precious seconds. It was damp and dark inside, full of a dank animal smell with a strong undertone of manure. A series of alarmed bleats and lows greeted his sudden invasion. He picked himself up off the earthen floorspace, squinting around. There were make-shift wooden doors, latched with coils of rope and arranged between large simple panelled walls to make large, but rudimentary, box stalls. Except for the merest sprinkling of rotten sawdust, the ground was bare. There was no straw anywhere.

Outside Gerda was already on her feet, stomping towards him, but Agi's hands stretched out as he leapt upwards grabbing the rope handles of the box stalls on either side of him. The force of his motion yanked the rope over their respective posts, freeing the animals inside. Instantly four madly bleating skinny sheep pushed past him. Long shaggy wool-laden bodies heaved as they muscled their way towards the outside, all following a particularly impressive creature with big curly horns as it charged the door. Agi barely moved out of their way, but Gerda was knocked back down to the ground as sixteen hooves kicked and stampeded their way out into the field.

The boy was already working on the next set of doors, yanking on their rope latches. Snorting and protesting lows greeted his efforts as the startled red-and-white cows threw up their bulging heads, unwilling to move their spindly bodies out of fear of the smoky smell in the air. Agi frowned, eyeing the animals and casting a glance back at a spluttering Gerda. He darted forward into one of the boxes, keeping low as he weaved through the massive bovine legs and emerged behind the startled cow. She threw up her head, nostrils flaring and Agi jumping, ting hand slapping her high on her thigh. It was a pale imitation of the action he had seen the farmers do when they wanted animals to move. It didn't work. Instead the cow lashed out, barely missing Agi, but knocking her own water pail from its hook on the wall. Water splashed all over the bare ground and the metal bucket clattered against the wall. Frightened, the cow lowed and kicked, but started forwards in a clumsy rush to get away from the commotion behind her. Seeing her move her fellow bovine started out of her own box, eager not to be left behind.

Gerda had barely gotten back onto her feet when she came face to face with a snorting cow. She pulled back, alarmed, as the angry bovine stared down her. It was standing in the doorway with its fellow behind it, inching closer as the second cow shoved the first in an effort to get outside. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small o-shape. She raised her shoulders, snatching at her skirts and leaping out of the way. The cows pushed past, heading out into the open field, as the old woman lost her balance and fell backwards into the hay piles stacked around the shed.

"Agnarr!" a high pitched voice screeched over the mad mooing, "You little pest!"

Agi turned his head slowly from where he had been fumbling with the last rope lock. "Uh-oh!" His eyes widened and his shoulders dropped as he pulled himself closer into the shadow of the stall.

Gerda was at the open door. Her face red. Her eyes wild. Her dress stained. Her bun unravelling on her head. She advanced on him, rolling up her tight-fitting sleeves. He backed away. She marched closer. He slowly pushed the box door open with his shoulder. She snarled, curling her lip and dived, arms outstretched to snatch at the disappearing child.

Suddenly sharp hooves landed on her upper back. The old mad nanny goat bucked and brayed, lashing out as the old woman fell to the ground. Crowned with a scruffy mess of white the animal was long-woolled and gangly with a thin black head on an almost white body. Sharp horns jutted out from between the dark twitching ears. Its round yellow ears rolled wildly in their sockets as it shrieked and bucked, driving its pointed hooves down like tiny pickaxes. Holding on tightly to the shaggy fur, Agi lay flat on top of the angry creature, one fist tightly around the hair rope tether that normally kept it bound to the wall. The goat almost bounced off the ground, taking off at a run and carrying the child out into the burning night without even noticing the smoke or flames in its mad rush for freedom.

" _Agg-narr!_ " Gerda's scream followed them out of the shed door, echoing across the fields as they sprang over the fences in easy bounds and vanished.

The goat galloped along like a mad rhinoceros, bucking its legs and tossing its thick horns wildly from side to side, but Agi clamped tightly with his knees digging into the heaving sides. Shaggy black and white fur wafted an unmistakable caprid stench up his nose as he kept the rest of his body as close to flush with the animal's as possible, his undeveloped hands still clenched around the rope. The fields fell far behind as they trampled through the smoking embers of the burnt out storage tents, the animal bleating madly as the hot ash hit its legs. Panicking, it threw its hind quarters up in the air, practically toppling over in mid-air as it ran bleating into a half-empty crate.

Wood smashed against the creature's horns, splintering in all directions. It kicked and bucked, finally flinging itself to the ground in frustration and half-rolling along the floor for few steps. Agi lost his grip, sliding off the creature and landing hard on the earth floor. His head bounced on the splintered remains of the crate and his body twisted into odd angles. The goat leapt back upright, still kicking and lashing out, even as it remain loosely trapped by the coarse rope still in Agi's hand. Shards of wood, clothes and rags flew through the air mixing with the acrid taste of smoke as the animal churned up the box's contents with its hooves. It tore up an old pink nightgown and ruptured an extensive-looking down coat. Blunt molars latched onto an old scarf, pulling it apart. A Hessian bag ripped underneath the rampaging caprid hooves. Pine cones scattered out over the earth floor, startling the goat. It hissed and spat, rearing onto it's hind hooves and backed away, shaking its horns, until it hit its rump hit the main support post of the loosely flapping tent they were currently in.

After a few moments however the animal recovered. Its madness temporarily reprieved at the sight, its long tongue sneaked out and it tossed a cone up into the air, expertly catching and crushing it in its narrow mouth, filtering out the edible parts with great gusto. Then it set to work demolishing the rest.

The destroyed clothes and pine cones lay scattered upon the sooty ground as the tethered goat picked over them diligently. Around them the fabric walls were grey-stained and smouldering, massive holes letting white cinders fly in like hot snow. Even the large struts were barely covered by the remaining canvas, though this smaller blaze had failed to do more than blacken them. There were embers from smaller fire dotted around the floor, but thankfully not too near the animal and the child. Still there was a tell-tale hiss and crackle in the air and the smoky smell was horrendous. This was not a healthy place to be.

Agi sat up slowly, still dazed and rubbing his stinging face with one infantile hand. His eyes lit up as he saw what the goat was doing. "Awesome! Food!" he cooed, scrambling to his feet. He wobbled slightly, but his smile didn't falter as he spread out his arms for balance. "Great thinking, Mamma Geit! Let's see if they've got anything other than pinenuts!" He pushed aside the bag uncovering a smaller one with a tinge of green marking the bottom. It opened to reveal some very gamy-looking oats, which the goat promptly tore straight from his hands.

"Hey," Agi cried, trying to snatch the bag back, "You know goats don't eat that!" _5_ Mamma Geit simply held the bundle up higher out of the reach of the boy, happily munching away with her versatile lips, apparently oblivious to the child bouncing around on his toes trying to snatch it back. Agi tripped, falling backwards into a pile of clothes with a sock landing on his head.

"Hey, Hey, Hey!" he cried, holding up the oddly shaped garment and pulling out a particularly strange lump from inside it. It was a thin black twisted rod, hardly longer than the child's hand. "This is smoked sausage! They told me where wasn't any left!" The goat burped loudly having polished off even the bag the oats were in.

Someone giggled. Agi glanced up, a rustling sound guiding his searching eyes. His brow furrowed. He stood up, shoving the sausage and its sock into the pocket of his waistcoat.

A little girl stood where the doorway used to be. Her arms were clenched tightly around the middle of her grey ragged winter dress. Any pattern had long since washed out of the fabric and it was getting a little short on her, leaving her thick white tights visible all the way passed her knees. She seemed hardly older than two or three, younger even than Agi, with a long face for a child her age and large almond-shaped eyes. Thick mucousy tears were trailing down her little cheeks, despite the quirk of a smile that had ghosted over her features. It was clear she had been crying very recently.

"Mamma!" she sniffed, thick dirty blonde plaits sticking out wildly above her large ears. She shifted slightly, her thin features twisting back into tears as she held his attention, "Mamma..." _6_

Agi stared at her, wide eyed. Smoke thickened over both their heads and there were a series of shouts in the distance as another tent caught fire. He tilted his head to the side, taking a few steps closer. "Can't you find your Mamma?" She shook her head vigorously, pigtails slapping her cheeks as she did so.

His brows lowered and he stuck out his lip in confusion. "Then what's wrong?"

A thick snot bubble formed under the child's tiny nose. "Dolly," she whispered, her little oblong face screwing up at the word, "Need dolly."

The boy frowned. "Where is it?"

She pointed in a direction outside the door. Agi obediently totted over, pulling the goat with him and followed the line of her arm with his eyes. There was ash everywhere. It was carried on the wind and twisted through the smoke, little sparks of yellow dying as still-burning particles were extinguished in the air. Most of the storage tents were on fire now. The open spaces between them were covered in black soot. Once well trodden walkways were dark and dusty. Agi coughed, the bad air stinging his eyes as he stood next to his young companion. They were alone for now, although there was the sound of adults coming closer by the minute. He could barely see the girl, but he knew what she was pointing at. Right at the back of the settlement was the large rock overhang under which most of the families slept at night. A large hut had been built, using it as a kind of roof. Tall wood struts held up the long-dead branches, weeds and bits of cloth interwoven to make breathable walls near the top and the rest was a thick mound of earth piled up high around the base to help keep in the heat.

"Inside," the girl muttered, shuffling her feet. She was little more than silhouette in the half-light, an invisible small-featured lump beside the goat and the boy in his glowing red waistcoat.

Agi reached forward, grasping her hand. He pressed the end of Mamma Geit's rope between her fingers and waited until she gripped it tightly. "Hold on," he instructed her, bobbing his head in front of her so she could see his face, "I'll get your doll!"

The boy turned away from her at a run. He pelted down the ash-laden road, his lungs burning more with every breath. His limbs were oddly heavy, but he pressed on pulling his aching legs with his arms. He bit his dry lips, his body aching as he started to cough. A whirl of embers brought down from a burning canvas by the wind scorched his face and hands, and he slapped at them with his prone little fingers as he made his way through the open earth pit where the cooking was usually done. Something exploded behind him, knocking him off his feet. He staggered upright, wiping his small forehead.

Sheer grey rock jutted out into the sky above his head, smoke blossoming like wild flora all over it. Wooden poles, the hacked up trunks of spindly trees, grew out of the surrounding ground. Earth was piled up into high slopes around their bases to provide strong walls to shelter those inside. As Agi gazed upwards he could not even see the wattle and daub fences he knew crowned them over the sheer bulk of the hardened loam. Ash and soot rained down from the smoky ceiling, settling around him and making him cough. He had reached the sleeping hut, but to a child as small as him this was a terrifically large obstacle.

Agi barely seemed to notice. Without so much as a glance upwards, he shunted off towards a distant tunnel-like opening jutting out of the earthen features. It stuck out like a sore thumb, a knobbly misshapen appendage of hardened clay-soil reinforced with wooden struts. Never very beautiful, it had nevertheless done its job of protecting the simple doorway... until now. Thick tendrils of black smoke billowed out of the looming archway, wafting out into the night. The wood inside had caught fire and the earth was slowly collapsing inwards under its own weight, crushing anything that might be beneath.

Smoke stung Agi's large almond-shaped eyes, making him blink and tear up involuntarily. He coughed again, backing away and rubbing his sore lids with his small fists, he gritted his teeth and marched forward towards the soot-stained earth walls. It was far too warm and black with soot, but he wiggled his fingers into the loose soil, pulling himself upwards with all the strength in his little arms. His shoes pawed at the loam beneath him as he rose. Almost instantly he started to slip again, but he held on fiercely, dragging himself just a little bit higher. It took several tries before he could get himself properly off the ground, but then he made good progress, climbing the earthen slope with a series of hard kicks and pointed jabs.

Step after step, handhold after crumbling dirty handhold, his clothes covered in soot, his mouth full of the taste of ash, he blinked staring upwards at his goal and never looked down. He slipped several times, sliding back down until he could dig a hand or foot in far enough to halt himself. He never fell completely and eventually the dirt ran out, leaving Agi to pull himself over the thick wattling that topped it. The brambles scratched at his hands and caught on his stockings, making him wince and leaving his little shins bare and scratched until they bled. Still it didn't put him off. He knew what he wanted. There were holes here, between the struts, designed to let out smoke from the fireplaces inside. Thick black plumes poured out of them now too, but this was fiercer and thicker than what was usual for the chimney holes.

Agi wasn't scared. He took a deep breath, pushing forward.

Hot ash burned his face and hands. He cried out, toppling forwards. A rough stone chute enveloped him, scratching his hands and feet as he fell. It was dark and hot. Smoke smothered him, making his throat ache. A protruding rock smacked into his head. His scull rang with blossoming pain. It grew and stung as he twisted in the air, leaving sick to his stomach. He grimaced, then screamed as something hard and red hot slapped into his back, leaving him suspended over a scorching heat.

It burned. It hurt and Agi tried to move, but his vision blurred and he fell back on the scorching metal. It was so hot. It hurt so badly. Every second the pain started over again, filling his young mind as he screamed. It burned. It burned. Each time the pain hit him anew. He reached forward, his skin and clothes ripping and he wailed in agony.

Suddenly he was cold. Something cool had inserted itself between him and the pain. His back stung with the change in temperature and he gasped for air, struggling for each breath in the smoky chill. The cold was getting wetter and as it did it started to warm dangerously. He lay there panting as wetness spread over his back. The heat was seeping back through the welcome cold and Agi shifted in discomfort. His head flopped to the side, leaving him with a view of where he had fallen.

The cooking grate: he caught his breath, the knowledge searing into his brain along with the torment. He had landed on a small metal cooking grate. Painful as it was, it was actually protecting him from the fire in the open hearth underneath. Sobbing in agony, he pushed hard with one shoulder, rolling forwards, falling off the edge of the metal and landing shoulder first on the stones that lined the fireplace. Water cascaded onto the floor with him, extinguishing the flames in the hearth.

He lay there in the swirling black smoke, his hands clutched uselessly against his chest were he had held them for protection, his very fingers twisted up with pain. His own cries echoed in his ears, but he was hardly aware of making them. Dust stung his nose and the smoke stole his breath. He coughed heavily, snatching at some of the clean air he found nearer the floor. His back was burned, his shoulder ached and his head smarted so badly it brought extra tears to his eyes. It was so hot. Everything was so hot. Already the wetness on his skin had disappeared.

Fire raged inside the long house. Several of the beds were already burning. Flames licked up the walls, bringing down the makeshift shelves that people had put up to store personal possessions. It cackled and spat all around, hot ash flickering through the air.

The boy closed his eyes, staggering determinedly to his knees. Biting down the pain, he crawled forwards in slow deliberate strides. He knew roughly where the girl's family slept and it wasn't far, but the smoke was burning his throat and eyes and he could barely see. His limbs shaking, he moved towards a makeshift table, a thin slab of slate stone someone must have chipped from the walls supported at either end by a couple of small wooden crates. A pile of large bedrolls were stored on the bare earthen floor underneath it, leaving barely enough space for a child to squeeze in. Still thankfully in one piece on the floor, untouched by the fire raging on around the walls, sat an incredibly ugly wooden figure with tiny hand-drawn eyes, long disjointed limbs and a dress made of an old handkerchief.

Agi breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing against the mound of bedding under the table. He had made it. His fingers reached out and closed around one of the doll's long off-set arms pulling it closer, as he took several laboured breaths. He lay there, holding someone else's toy tightly to his chest, his legs curled up next to him. Every breath hurt. His back hurt. His shoulder hurt. His throat hurt. His vision was blurry and his eyes were really sore. He knew he needed to crawl back to one of the chimneys to see if he could climb out that way, but he was so tired... If he could just stay a few minutes...

The fire wasn't idle. It had worked its way across the supporting beams of the outer walls. Most of the wattling was now ablaze and some of the woodwork was making odd creaking sounds. Those creaks were getting awfully loud. Agi raised his head. There was a low desperate groan and then a loud crash that shook the room. The noise reverberated like thunder. He could hear furniture breaking, things crashing. The child's whole body shook. Earth crumbled inwards, sliding down across the floor at a terrible speed, carrying broken blocks of stone and soild fixtures. Burning wood and cloth went flying everywhere. Part of the wall had caved in.

Agi raised his head, just before blackness claimed him a single thought slipped urgently across his mind. How was he going to get out?

Something barked in the distance and he could hear vague calling. Agi stirred, his body still sore. "Uncle..." He choked, barely able to speak.

Suddenly he heard the large slab above him shift as someone wrenched it off and threw it aside. Heavy paws bounced on his chest and there was a dog barking urgently in his ear. Big hands grabbed him, shifting the canine aside and lifting him upwards. He blinked, vaguely recognising thick square facial features covered in a scarf. He couldn't quite place who it was though.

"Agi," a muffled voice gasped in surprise, suddenly clutching him fiercely against a broad fur-clad chest.

"Uncle," Agi whispered and closed his eyes.

When he awoke he was outside the building. His face was pressed against musky furs covering a warm living chest. His body was cradled in a tight embrace. He coughed and he was instantly shifted. Cool air hit his lips and he drank it greedily, barely aware of anything else. His body still hurt and he didn't want to move, everything was sore and hot. A dog was barking. Someone was whispering his name.

Slowly opening his eyes he blinked at familiar square features above him. It was a gentle pale skinned face with a large nose and chin. Golden blonde hair poked out of a woollen hat as two soft round eyes gazed down at him. They were filled with tears. A large hand detached from around the boy, coming to rest against the child's cheek. The red-streaked sky above was still starless in the smoky night. Upturned stones littered the ground around them, cold ash lying over the ground almost as thick as the endless snow. The fires seemed to have receded and the night was still. A small woman in a torn folk dress held a fickering wooden torch in both of her knobbled fingers, trying to offer them some light.

"Agi," someone whispered.

"Uncle Kristoff..." Agi muttered back, his body still sleepy. His arm fell from the embrace and instantly a wet slobbery tongue attached itself to his hand, licking his dangling fingers. "Alfi..." He could feel the canine's hot breath as it barked at the sound of its name.

A loud screeching sound interrupted them, making Kristoff look up. The noise came from what had once been the outdoor kitchen area and was now a charred mess of blackened boulders and broken crates. Pushing her way though a series of shredded sacks, a toddler with thick pigtails and a plain grey dress waddled into sight from behind of one the largest boulders that had once served as a makeshift table. Her bare little hands were red with cold, but her snotty freckled face was beaming with a strange excitement. She was followed almost immediately the shaggy shape of a black and white goat, a long rope trailing from its neck as it jumped onto the boulder and tossed its head in the air, a manic glint in its yellow eyes.

The child cooed in excitement, clapping her hands. "Dolly! Dolly!" She was staring straight at them, wide eyed. Suddenly Kristoff found her at his knee, still beaming. He was sat on one of the scorched stones that had once been part of the kitchen firepit. Alfi backed up in confusion by Kristoff's feet, huffing at the strange intruder. Agnetha knelt beside them holding a torch, her round face full of wonder as she stared at the girl. The infant grinned broadly at all them. Then, climbing on her tip-toes, she put a grubby set of digits on Kristoff's fur-clad knee, reaching in with her other hand to pull out the strange doll still lay nestled between him and the boy.

Among all the confused chatter the man barely had time to process this. There was a crowd around them. Dagmar and thin gangly Leander were working together to load several large sacks onto each other's back, making off towards the other end of the camp. Tilda, Niels and Elin were trying to hold back a crowd of sweaty, soot-stained onlookers who were apparently all trying to help out at once. Agnetha coughed politely, holding the torch close to him while also attempting to look respectfully disinterested, a feat she had yet to successfully pull off even once in all the time he had known her and today was no exception. Much of the bare kitchen had recently been in flames and what was safe to be in was now packed with people, standing around with less and less to do as it became ever more apparent that the battle to preserve what was left of their home had been lost.

Suddenly there was another scream. A young woman in a faded, worn out dress pushed Elin aside and broke out of the crowd, racing towards them. She fell to her knees in front of Kristoff, snatching the little girl to her chest. "Eira! Sweetheart!" she sobbed, long thin arms emerging from under a heavy blue rosemåling patterned shawl and grasping the child's little pigtails as if scared she might evaporate. Thick greying hair was tied in a simple bun at the nape of her neck and her reddened ears stuck out on each side of her oval face. "Where have you been? We've been calling and calling you. Didn't you hear us?"

The little girl blinked, staring up at her parent from her squashed position against her bosom. "He found dolly!" she offered, trying to hold up the little wooden figure.

"Your doll...?" The woman's jaw slackened, her brow knitting as the wall of unravelling lace and blue linen retreated, replaced by her confused narrow features in front of the child's face even as her hands still held on tightly to her daughter's knobbly hair.

"Boy found it," the child repeated, sticking a tiny grubby finger in Agi's direction.

Kristoff instinctively drew back, his arms tightening around his nephew, as the woman's gaze fell upon them. Alfi yipped weakly, hiding behind the Sámi man's boot. Agnetha stared wide eyed back at the woman and there was a whispering among the crowd of onlookers. The mother's eyes wandered blankly over Kristoff's heavy furred features, before landing on the bundle resting on his lap.

"The boy?" she started up, apparently recognising the child in Kristoff's arms, "Prince Agi? You mean he...? He found my Eira." She stumbled over the few steps of distance between herself and Kristoff, snatching up the semi-conscious boy's hand away from the puppy and smothering it with kisses as Alfi looked on in disgust. "Oh, thank you. Thank you." Agetha clapped loudly. Tilda's warm buoyant frame promptly knocked several of the people behind her to the floor as she bounced on the spot cheering.

Agi squirmed, coughing. Kristoff pulled his nephew back out of the woman's hold, holding him tight. She backed away respectfully as leaned forward, cradling the child's head in one large sun-darkened hand. Seeing that the boy was fully awake now, he caressed one small cheek with his calloused thumb. There was a red flush around Kristoff's eyes and his voice was unusually rough, almost breaking as he held his small nephew close. "I thought I told you to stay with Sven and..."

"I bought you some sausage!" Agi mumbled up at him, holding out the offering in the old sock.

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 **Please don't forget to review. Thank you.**

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 ** _(1)_** If your religious or otherwise offended by this, then I apologise for the upset. It wasn't my intention. I sort of set myself up with the lead-in trying to find things that nobody likes, started deliberately trying to gross people out in response to it and found myself down a rabbit hole of hypertheticals. I'm not trying to be serious or offend anybody by maligning more traditional beliefs with this intro nor is it a view I particularly advocate or agree with. I was mostly just having a little fun finding a deliberately uncomfortable and opposite view of the world from what we are normally given and creating a thoroughly depressing 'what-if' scenario. You are of course at total leisure to disagree with it and perhaps even bask in the certainty of the love of [insert choice of divine creator/deity] and feel whatever gratitude you feel is appropriate for the love of the aforementioned. (The neglected and ignored remains of my Catholic upbringing suggest to me that outbursts of spurious gratitude and praise is always a good call with Gods in general... also just plain polite. I mean, you think said God made you a universe - what else do you want? Show some appreciation.)

Believing whatever you do is your choice and I totally respect it, especially when you believe it helps you be a better or happier person. I'm also not really interested in debating theology, agnosticism or atheism here or at all and particularly not in my reviews section, so do try to keep reviews focused on the story if possible or at least that part of the chapter and not religion in general. If you must talk further about this and can't deal with my lack of interest in further discussing a subject I have long considered to death, then my PM is always turned on - although I'm not always good at replying, I do always read what comes in.

 ** _(2)_** Traditional Scandinavian alcohol. One's a flavoured spirit of about 40% alcohol by volume made with herbs (and especially caraway or dill) and the other's a spicy mulled wine often drunk at sea among other places and even gets a mention one of the Frozen story books for kids. Recipes vary, some even add other spirits, but both alcoholic and non alcoholic variations of gløgg (or glögg in Sweden) are available. In some regions, like Norway, either or both of these beverages are traditionally drunk at Christmas among many other occasions festive and non. For more information try Wikipedia, your local stockist or a well-versed Scandinavian drunk.

 _ **(3)** _ For those of you who don't realise it, none bar two of the villagers here are original creations of mine though I did embellish some of them a bit. You do not need to know who they are to read this story. In almost all cases the source material is deliberately very spartan about them (because it's a children's book or early copy of the script or a very minor character) so not only have I probably already given you as much detail about them as was originally provided I've probably already expanded a whole lot upon it. However, they aren't mine as such do need proper referencing. So...

In reverse order of cannoniness: Florian, Niels, Tilda, Dagmar and Ingrid stem from the _Anna Elsa: Sisterhood is the Strongest Magic_ book, _All Hail the Queen_. From the same series we have Norvald from _The Great Ice Engine_ and Fredmund is a more grown-up version (it's been at least five years) of the seven year old from _The Secret Admirer_. Elin is in the same book as Fredmund as well as _The Polar Bear Piper,_ which also features Tilda again and from which I will probably be borrowing Leander at some point too. There will be more taken from this book series for a later group of characters too and they will be referenced when they appear as well.

Anders, on the other hand, is an older version of the little boy who lost his pig in one of the deleted scenes for the _Frozen_ movie. Agnetha was renamed to avoid confusion with my Agi but is supposed to be one half of a pair of characters seen in the actual finished film (and named as Aggi and Persi in the script) who are excited about the castle gates being open for a whole day in the coronation. Gerda of course is more well-known, but (in case you need reminding) is a minor character in Frozen with about one whole line of dialogue voiced by Edie McClurg. She's a long-standing servant in Arendelle castle.

 ** _(4)_** This originally read 'an old lady and a bag of _oats_ ', signifying the two things Kristoff is trying to save from the fire: human life and the ability to ensure its survival after the evacuation. It got changed after 'Olaf's Frozen Adventure' came out a year or two after this chapter's first release to indicate that is probably Mrs. Olsen - one half of the old couple named in the short, who would definitely qualify as likely to be in the refugee camp as they'd be too old to easily survive the crossing to mainland Europe (more on that later in the story). If I'm going to buy and trawl through children's books to find cannon-ish characters to include in this story, I am certainly going to make room for actual named-on-screen characters in the franchise. Besides if there's one type of person I can identify with, it's a crazy old cat lady - just ask my cat. He'll tell you...

More seriously though, if anyone knows the names of any of the other villagers who appear in this short I would deeply appreciate you letting me know as I've been finding them hard to track down.

 ** _(5)_** Before anyone starts: I know they do! Agi is 4 going on 5. He knows much less of the world than you and me.

It's also a bit of a left-over from an earlier draft when I tried to suggest much larger-scale food deprivation than in the finished version. They were pretty desperate, living off all sorts of weird stuff and couldn't afford to feed the animals proper feed, but that didn't make any sense... particularly when Kristoff had furs lying around and there were still living livestock who hadn't been eaten. Ultimately I didn't want to cut the animals so the food situation improved slightly as that part was less important to the overall plot. Still I rather liked that line, so it stayed. As did the bag of pine cones elsewhere in the chapter. A bit of an odd thing to collect and store, even as kindling - though I believe they will work for that, but I was originally trying for a state of such desperation that even the tiny pinenuts in the North European pine seemed valuable as food. That's slightly less the case now, but I couldn't think of anything more plausible that was still as ridiculous and fun for a goat to eat... and if you've ever fed a goat, you know, they will eat _anything_. I suppose the most plausible explanation now is that someone had a relatively optimistic thought about trying to regrow the dying forests after the war's over.

 ** _(6)_** Not "Mam- _mah_ " in the old formal British way or the American "Ma-mah", but the Norwegian spelling of Mummy, or Mommy depending on where you're from. Not a hundred percent positive about the pronunciation, but I did find an online dictionary that gave me some idea... and promptly forgot it again before this chapter was finished (it took weeks). This is also the same Mamma as in Mamma Geit or 'Mummy Goat' as I very inventively named her.


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